


Various Mihawk Prompts

by waskonedo



Category: One Piece
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Gen, M/M, One Shot Collection, Short & Sweet, goth fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:08:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23644384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waskonedo/pseuds/waskonedo
Summary: This where I'm going to keep all the things I write for a Tumblr event.Some will be shippy; some will not. All will be short scenes rated PG13 and generally wholesome. ALL INVOLVE MIHAWK!Everything will be tagged accordingly and I'll update the tags as I add new chapters. Please let me know if I've mistagged or you have a suggestion.Each chapter is a response to a prompt. Chapter content warnings are below.Ch 1: Mihawk + Perona + in Mihawk's garden + modern AU + goth fluff (cw: spiders)Ch 2: Mihawk + Perona + festival/park + goth fluffCh 3: Mihawk + Zoro + in Mihawk’s garden + competitiveCh 4: Mihawk + Shanks + restaurant meal + in loveCh 5: Mihawk + Hancock + in love + modern AUCh 6: Mihawk + Perona + sick/caretaking + in loveCh 7: Mihawk + Crocodile + Mariejois + argument
Relationships: Akagami no Shanks | Red-Haired Shanks/Dracule Mihawk, Boa Hancock/Dracule Mihawk, Dracule Mihawk & Crocodile, Dracule Mihawk & Roronoa Zoro, Dracule Mihawk/Perona, MihoPero
Comments: 16
Kudos: 61





	1. Mihawk + Perona + in Mihawk's garden + modern AU + goth fluff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mihawk and Perona fluff/banter that takes place in their backyard garden.

“Yeech,“ Mihawk snarled, “why do you insist on touching them?”

“Because they’re cute!” Perona answered as she shoved the spider on her finger toward him, “Look at her little spots! And her dainty legs! She’s got a fuzzy little face, too!”

Mihawk’s head jerked backward as his eyes met the spider’s. “They’re not cute,” he muttered before turning toward the house.

“Well _I am!”_ she called after him, “and I decide what’s cute around here!”

He hid a little smile at her retort as he walked back inside their Victorian farmhouse. The screen door snapped shut behind him, and as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, they fell on the bouquet of crimson roses she’d picked this morning, now standing in a crystal vase above the fireplace.

Turning an abandoned farmhouse into their own “castle” of sorts had been hard work, but it was _theirs._ Nice and secluded; 45 minutes to the nearest town. A wrap-around porch where they could sit at night.

Their crowning achievement was the garden, which was big enough to grow all they needed—plus some grapes, of course.

He filled two goblets with ice water and walked outside, where Perona was supervising her hollows as they dead-headed her flowers.

She took her drink and swallowed several gulps before handing it to a ghost to hold. “Good, you brought water. You’re learning!” she teased.

He lifted an eyebrow and frowned.

“I need,” she informed him, “more room for my plants. I have new seeds–moonflowers! They only come out at night, horohorohoro!”

She twirled in the air and directed her ghosts to an area near the bat-feeder. “I want to plant them there.”

“That’s my space. I’m using it.”

“You could cut down on them, couldn’t you? You don’t even really use them that much…”

Mihawk’s frown intensified as he surveyed the small plots. His little treasures! His most formidable opponents…His hot peppers!

Carolina Reaper! Trinidad Scorpion! Naga Viper! Ghost Pepper! Bird’s Eye!

“I’ll not allow you to usurp my garden, Ghost Princess,” he mumbled.

“Jeez, don’t pout about it! I can find somewhere else for the moonflowers. And it's **OUR** garden–don’t you forget it!” She laughed and made her way toward the bleeding heart plants near the wrought-iron fence.

“They are…” he called to her as he lifted his chin, **“The World’s Strongest Peppers!”**


	2. Mihawk + Perona + festival/park + goth fluff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mihawk and Perona visit a local festival and try to win at the balloon dart game.

He squinted and aimed the dart at the balloon. It was under-inflated; his projectile was dull. With a grunt, he fired it toward the balloon wall with such force that the entire game stand fell over in a cloud of dust.

“Noooooo!” Perona complained, “You have to get four _green_ balloons so I can trade up for the zombie ballerina doll!”

Mihawk curled his lip and glared at the game attendant as they tried to rearrange their booth. “I was attempting to do so. Couldn’t you, Ghost Princess, just sway the attendant with your hollows?”

“No! You have to win it for me! Otherwise, it’s not the same.”

He smoothed his hair with his hand and replaced his hat. Hadn’t he indulged her enough by attending this wretched affair? The Ferris wheel, the haunted house, the fireworks, the snacks, the mirror maze… did she really need the blasted zombie ballerina?

Still, she was waiting, looking at him with those big, pleading eyes… perhaps he should–

“Fine!” she belted out, “I’ll do it myself!" 

Her ghosts gathered three darts from the dust and presented them to their master, who launched the projectiles with a laugh while the attendant scrambled to safety. The darts sailed into the targets, one snagging two balloons along the way.

Perona cocked her head to the side and placed a hand on her hip. "Still got it! Horohorohoro! Well?! Give me the doll!”

The attendant nodded toward the string of prizes strewn along the remnants of their booth. A grinning ghost retrieved the doll and presented it to Perona, who hugged it in triumph.

“Hmph,” grunted Mihawk, “I thought you said _I_ had to win it _for_ you…”

“Horohorohoro!” she giggled as she walked away, “You were taking too long and making a mess. Come on, let’s get some of those strawberry cakes before we leave! And a funnel cake! And dango! And ice cream, and…”


	3. Mihawk + Zoro + in Mihawk’s garden + competitive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A friendly little garden competition

“Why are we burying these nuts?”

“…Pardon?”

“These little nuts, or rocks, or whatever they are.” Zoro opened his fist to reveal a cluster of round, tan objects.

Mihawk raised one eyebrow and peered over at Roronoa, who was staring at his palm. “Those…‘nuts’…are coriander seeds. You’re _planting_ –not burying, mind you–them because you trampled their ancestors.”

“That wasn’t my fault! I told you Perona was–”

“Perona _floats,_ Roronoa. She is physically incapable of trampling my garden. You, on the other hand…”

“Whatever,” Zoro huffed as he dug his trowel into the soil to deposit more of the nuts. It was useless to argue with the old man, especially once he’d made up his mind. 

He settled back into the rhythm he’d established before he asked the question. Obviously, Taka no Me was just using him for free labor. Chopping wood, washing windows, cleaning the moat… 

“Your present pace threatens to delay our dinner, Roronoa,“ the older man interrupted.

Zoro had had enough. “Oi, let’s see you do it any faster!” A sly smile crossed his lips as he added, “Or did too many years of carrying that sword ruin your back?”

For a moment, a dead silence washed over the island. Had Zoro gone too far?

“Psh,” Mihawk grunted. He hopped down from his perch on the stone wall, and within an instant, he was standing nose-to-nose with Roronoa.

“A contest, then?” Mihawk growled.

“That’s fine.”

“Excellent.”

“Bet.”

With a quick spin on his heels, Mihawk turned toward the garden shed and soon returned with handfuls of seed pouches. (Had Roronoa said “bet?” What in blazes did that mean?)

Pushing his confusion aside, he announced the rules: “Plant the rest of the coriander while I finish this row of cabbages. We’ll split the beans and tomatoes. The one who finishes all three rows first shall claim the lion’s share at tonight’s dinner.“

“Alright, you’re on,” said Zoro.

The two lined up at the edge of the garden, Mihawk wielding his kogatana and Zoro with a garden trowel. They needed no signal to begin–- a keen look shared between them was enough to start the race.

Soil flew through the air and birds scattered as the planting frenzy commenced. Mihawk worked in long rows, using his eyesight to count how many more seeds he needed to lay down before pivoting to the next row.

Zoro dashed from row to row, zigzagging across the garden to dig holes wherever seemed convenient. In the process, he planted several flower pots with beans, tripped over a wheelbarrow, and circled the castle twice.

Mihawk clapped his hands to signal that he was finished just as Zoro was down to his last seeds. “Heh,” he breathed with a crooked smile, “it seems that the…vigor of youth has once again lost to…experience and wisdom.”

“Hmph, you weren’t working all day like I was!” Zoro said, “You had me out here before the sun rose!”

Mihawk’s frown hardened.

“I want to train, not do chores,” Zoro added, seeing as how now was as good a time as any.

“…Hm,” Mihawk sighed, “Roronoa, are you too dense to see that this _is_ training? Each of these chores provides necessary skills that each swordfighter must perfect.”

He stood and dusted his palms on his thighs and continued, “Of course you may have mistaken these _arcane swordfighting drills_ as everyday chores, but I assure you, each is designed to impart specific, secret techniques known only to the highest-level swordmasters.”

Zoro nodded softly. “Huh. That makes sense. I’ve heard of stuff like that. Muscle confusion or something.”

“Yes, it may seem confusing,” Mihawk said solemnly before turning to enter the castle.

As soon as his face was hidden from Roronoa, a sly grin spread over his face. “Don’t forget to stir the compost heap before you…conclude today’s training. It, ah, builds spatial awareness.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also, because Zoro planted beans and tomatoes in random spots, you can imagine how the garden looked when they started growing and needed stakes and cages. Poor Mihawk!


	4. Mihawk + Shanks + restaurant meal + in love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sword boyfriends meet for dinner and news

"Akagami, where _exactly_ are we going?"

"It's around here somewhere. There's a thing in the window, a little decal."

Mihawk sighed and scanned the area. "There's no such window in view," he said, “and we've been scurrying around for blocks now. I'm quite certain we've passed a number of… suitable establishments already.”

"Maybe it was back near the bridge?” Shanks mumbled as he bit the inside of his lip, "I know it's around here."

He tapped Mihawk's elbow and began retracing their footsteps. His plans for a perfect evening seemed to have taken as many wrong turns as he had.

"No sort of decent establishment would disguise its existence," Mihawk hissed, “You said to meet you for a nice meal. I could have stayed at home and--”

“Here it is!” 

Mihawk jerked forward when Shanks tugged his arm, propelling him awkwardly through the entryway as he followed quickly behind. 

Mihawk looked over the room: a handful of mismatched tables were scattered in a sparsely lit, wood-paneled cafe. Only a few customers were seated in the otherwise empty restaurant, and--as usual--Shanks had caused enough commotion to draw their interest. 

A cook’s sweaty head popped out from the kitchen and asked, “Yes?”

“TABLE FOR TWO!!” Shanks announced with a wide grin.

“Uhh, we usually only take reservations--”

“How about this one?!” Shanks said, tilting his head curiously as he pulled a chair out from one of the empty tables.

Mihawk’s eyes flicked to Shanks’ own, which were focused on the confused employee. 

“You’re not!” he gasped under his breath, “Akagami, tell me you’re not using haki to get a restaurant table...”

The cook swayed against the threshold for a moment, suddenly overcome with dizziness. “Yeah...” he stammered, “You guys can sit... wherever.” 

“That’s a new low, even for you,” Mihawk teased.

“Hey it worked, didn’t it? And besides, we didn’t come all this way not to eat.”

Mihawk frowned as Shanks continued, “Come on! I’ve been wanting to take you here for a long time.” Shanks’ impish grin never failed to smooth over Mihawk’s concerns, no matter what sort of predicament he’d gotten them into. “Besides, I have news!”

Mihawk’s eyes narrowed slightly, “News?”

“Yeah, I’ve--”

Their conversation was interrupted by the waiter’s approach.

“Welcome to C. Shanty’s, gentlemen. Tonight’s special is--”

“Oi, I want what I had last time,” Shanks countered, “and he’ll have the same! The Dragon Noodles!”

Mihawk peered skeptically over his menu at Shanks. Without looking at the waiter, Mihawk droned “and a bottle of--” he scanned the wine list “--whatever the chef recommends pairing with ‘Dragon Noodles’...”

“Just trust me -- you’ll love it!” Shanks insisted.

“A man as widely traveled as you is seldom wrong,” Mihawk admitted. With the waiter finally on his way, Mihawk pressed Akagami about the news.

“You’ll never guess,” Shanks whispered.

“I know. That’s why I asked you,” Mihawk smirked.

“I’m getting a new ship! She’s gonna be named ‘Red Force’...” Shanks drew his palm across the air with a flourish. “It’ll be a few weeks before she’s kitted out, but I can’t wait to show her off once she’s under sail.”

“Well I hope _you_ weren’t in charge of the design,” Mihawk snickered.

Shanks broke into laughter, slapping the table hard enough to draw the eyes of the other diners. “You’re one to talk! You’ve been sailing around in the same dinghy for years!”

“I don’t travel often,” Mihawk reminded him.

“And that,” Shanks said with a glowing smile, “is why I can always find you. Listen, since I don’t have anything to do while the ship is being built, I’m gonna stay with you for a while!” 

Mihawk bristled at the assertion, “I am NOT putting up your entire crew for three weeks.”

“Oh no,” Shanks assured him, “They’re all on leave. It’ll just be me. Aaaaand it’s gonna be more like a month.”

Mihawk didn’t reply; he stared intently at Akagami’s hands instead. Despite their size, they were surprisingly soft and tender. 

“I even brought my own toothbrush!” Shanks joked. 

All at once, Mihawk’s lips curled in a half-smile, “...a month, eh?”

“Is that alright?” Shanks asked, suddenly realizing that it might not be.

“Akagami, in the course… of our relationship, has there ever been,” he said as he reached over to clasp Shanks’ hand in his, “an occasion upon... which I would deny my dearest companion quarter in... a time of--”

Before he could finish, the waiter returned, carrying two towering bowls of sizzling noodles, trailing a wake of steam across the restaurant.

Shanks was right about the noodles. They _were_ delicious! But amidst his third mouthful, Mihawk discovered why the dish was called dragon noodles. After several stilted attempts at finishing his soliloquy, he blurted out, “Blazes! These are hot!”

Shanks leaned back in his chair with uproarious laughter. “I’ll just take that as a yes, then!” 

Mihawk doused his mouth with wine and looked up. “Of course!”

“Great, because I already had a bunch of things delivered to your place! It’ll just be you and me for a whole month!”

Mihawk cracked a smile and swallowed a couple more gulps of wine. “You had me meet you all the way out here, just to tell me you were moving in with me?”

“Well,” Shanks winked, “I know how much you love a flair for the dramatic. By the way, I, uh, don’t have a ship, so I’m gonna need a lift back to your place.”

With a muffled laugh, Mihawk raised his glass to meet his beloved’s. “The adventures never cease with you, do they? A toast...to the best month of our lives.”


	5. Mihawk + Hancock + in love + Modern AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a TV star chef and her professor husband relax after work

Mihawk gave a quick side glance to the convertible sitting beside him at the stoplight. With a chirp of rubber, both cars launched forward when the light turned green, but the convertible was faster and Hancock pulled ahead, head tossed back in self-satisfied laughter, hair flowing in the wake.

By the time she glanced in the rearview mirror a few seconds later, Mihawk was gone, turned down some side street with his usual furious precision. Hancock kept the pedal down the whole way home, only to pull into the driveway as the garage door closed behind Mihawk’s already-parked sports coupe. 

Once inside the door, she breezed past him, stealing a wordless kiss on the way, and threw herself onto the couch, kicking her shoes off all in one motion.

She’d get him. Some day. 

Hancock turned on the TV to find it recording a cooking show.. 

“Aww! ❤ You still watch this?”

“Every day! It’s where I acquired all my most powerful recipes…" 

“Naturally.”

"And besides, I’m rather fond of the host – she’s something of a celebrity in this house,” Mihawk added.

Hancock rolled her eyes and pressed play on the remote, and her own voice began to call from the TV set: “Thanks for tuning in to ‘Cooking Kuja.’ If you paid attention, you should be able to approximate my dish. If not, try harder! See you next time!

"Hey Mihawk, what are you making for dinner?”

Her husband opened the fridge and stared blankly at its contents before selecting a few things from the crisper. 

“Truth be told, you’re the real chef here, but we both know, without the magic of television, we’d be here all night, waiting on you to finish chopping these vegetables,” Mihawk winked, chef’s knife ablur against the cutting board as perfectly even slices cascaded into a prep bowl.

“You’re only speedy with a blade, Mr. Swordsman. I can only imagine how you torture your students with tangents and footnotes,” Hancock chided from the couch. “Besides, I’m done cooking for the day. I filmed two episodes today! How’d you feel if I asked you to lecture me as soon as we got home?”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he deadpanned. 

“Speaking of which, how’s the new teaching assistant working out? Zolo or something, wasn’t it?”

“Roronoa Zoro is… not entirely hopeless. He does have a sort of infectious enthusiasm… Only time will tell. He’ll certainly never be able to compete with the academic titles I’ve acquired.”

Hancock was only half-listening as she watched Lily, their pet snake, explore the living room after being released from her enclosure. Lily worked her way toward the warmth of the kitchen, where the scent of garlic was beginning to fill the room. 

Anticipation was burning a hole in Hancock’s stomach! She followed Lily to the kitchen to check her husband’s progress. 

“How much longer, Mr. Speedy? ❤” she asked, as she ran her fingers between his shoulders to tousle the professor’s messy salt-and-pepper locks.

“Patience, my dear; following your own recipe, you ought well be able to estimate the distance between dry and al dente,” Mihawk chuckled.

“You sure know how to keep a girl waiting.”

Within a few minutes, Mihawk announced that the meal was ready, and Hancock pranced off to the dinner table with an eager smile. Once seated, Mihawk uncorked a bottle of wine and settled into the typical, easy chatter of their evenings at home. 

“I think I might finally have bested you on this one,” he boasted.

“Well, you’ve certainly been my taste-tester enough times to memorize the dish,” she laughed, “But seriously, if I hadn’t had you to bounce all my ideas off and encourage me to write that first cookbook, none of this would’ve happened.”

Their eyes met as they each took a bite of her famous dish, Love Noodles. 

“Hmm, this is almost as good as I would’ve made it.”

Mihawk tossed his head back and teased, “Well, perhaps if I had a better instructor…”

With that retort, the two burst into momentary laughter, Hancock tilting back in her chair as Mihawk stretched across the table, squeezing her outstretched hand. 

“Ask me for a private lesson, later,” Hancock offered with a wink.

Once the meal was finished, the two cleaned up and retired to the sofa to lazily watch their favorite detective shows. Hancock rested in Mihawk’s arms and looked up at him with a contented smile. 

“So, how do you always beat me home, anyway? What the hell kind of shortcut are you taking?”

“Simple,” he quipped, “I just travel the shortest distance. I usually know how to get what I want.”

With a soft peck on his lips, she added, “Maybe… or maybe I just let you win because you’re cute ❤”


	6. Mihawk + Perona + sick/caretaking + in love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Perona has an allergy attack and puts nurse Mihawk to the test!

Perona gasped as soon as she saw them: never before in all her exploring of Kuraigana Island had she found something so fascinating! So glorious! So beautiful! So, so,-- 

**So C~U~T~E~~~!!**

The pink-and-black blossoms were deep within a thicket, but it was only a small matter for her ghosts to retrieve them. With a squeal, she tucked one into her hair while she examined the flowers. 

Soft, velvety petals the color of bubble gum were outlined with a black lace-like vein of color that curled and spiraled over every surface. In the center of each blossom was a bright red fuzzy disc that she couldn’t resist stroking with her fingertips. Sturdy, jet-black stems were peppered with fine, heart-shaped leaves, rimmed in black. 

They were _absolutely perfect_ and she set her ghosts to work gathering the rest of the bunch where they peeked through the undergrowth. She collected the haul and brought the lovely-looking bunch up to her nose, pressing the petals against her nostrils and inhaling deeply; they had a heady, almost musky aroma. What a sophisticated scent!

Clutching the double-fistful tightly against her chest, the ghost princess began happily floating back to the castle. “These will look perfect on the dinner table! Mihawk never has any decorating sense,” she told the ghosts along the way.

As she floated through the castle entryway, she thrust the bouquet towards Mihawk, who was casually sitting in a nearby armchair. “Look what lov-- ACHOO!”

"Pardon?” Mihawk replied, barely looking up from his newspaper.

“Ugh, these,” the princess resumed, “are the most precious fl-a-a-a-CHOO!!” Perona burst out a string of sneezes so violent that each one shot her backward in the air. “Ku-choo! Ku-choo! Ku----” She held a finger to her nose in a valiant attempt to stop the next sneeze, but it was all for naught. “Ku-choo! Ku-choo! Waaa-choooOOO!”

“Do you require a moment to gather your thoughts?” Mihawk asked.

“Be quiet!” she scolded, “I’mb trying to tell youb! I found **these** in the swamb!” With an exasperated look, she thrust the flowers toward the flippant swordfighter. “Aren’t they bretty?”

Mihawk scanned over the bouquet, but the sight of his dear Perona’s reddened eyes stopped him in his tracks. “There’s no need to cry, Princess. I agree with you that they’re quite enchanting.”

“I’mb not crying!” Perona corrected him, “My eyes just won’t stob watering all of a sudden!” Her ghosts circled around her anxiously while she rubbed at her eyes. 

Noticing her face beginning to flush, Mihawk quickly realized the source of her distress. “Have you considered,” he asked while producing a handkerchief from his pocket, “that the flowers might be what’s gotten you...so agitated, Ghost Girl?”

“You just bon’t want me to hab nice things,” Perona argued while scrunching up her face to fight another sneeze.

“Quite the contrary, my love,” the swordsman countered, “After all, you have me! But do consider at least putting them down a moment?” 

“Fine!” Perona huffed as she set the bunch down on the table nearby. “I still don’t see, wh-wh… I still… I still don’t see what tha- Ku-chooOOO!!!” 

“Even if it’s not the flowers, it’s clear that _something_ is distressing you,” Mihawk reasoned. “Go wash your hands and face; clear away whatever’s irritating you, flowers or otherwise.”

With a businesslike nod of agreement, she turned and rushed down the hallway toward the bath. Mihawk, satisfied in the inherent pragmatism of his advice, returned to his armchair and newspaper.

When he finished reading, he realized that Perona had been away for quite a while. He made his way to the bathroom, where he found her still furiously splashing her face with water. Fine red hives were beginning to emerge on her cheeks and the earlier flushing was spreading to her chest.

She looked up at him in misery. “What should I do?” she asked between sniffles, “My whole body itches!”

“Perhaps it’s appropriate to consider a more thorough decontamination,” he advised. “Leave your clothes by the door and take a meticulous shower. Remember to wash from your crown to your toes and use the soap liberally. You want to strip away whatever allergens you’ve collected. Take care to--”

“Ugh, I know how to take a SHOWER, Mihawk!” Perona interrupted. 

“Very good,” he said with a hint of embarrassment, “Summon me if you need any… further assistance.” He leaned in to offer a peck on the lips, then changed his mind and kissed her forehead instead. “I will attempt to research your malady in the meantime.” 

When he was gone, she tossed her clothes in a pile and got to work in the shower. Even her stiffest shower brush and loofah couldn’t relieve the stinging itch that crept along her skin and scalp. From the insides of her ears to the bottoms of her feet, _everything itched!_

She scrubbed and scrubbed, washing her hair twice and even giving her legs a go with the pumice stone. Nothing seemed to help, however, and the water was growing cold already. By the time she’d started to shiver, her skin was bright red from the mixture of allergies, scratching, and scrubbing.

She reluctantly exited the shower to find her favorite fluffy white robe and slippers waiting in place of her clothes at the door. Her ghosts escorted her to the bedroom where the bed was turned down and Mihawk sat waiting with a cup of herbal tea. 

“Drink this and get a good nap; you look miserable!” he announced.

“Gee, thanks.”

He patted at the sheets and bid her to join him on the bed. 

“Just let me dry my bangs first,” she said hoarsely, “If I let them air-dry, they--”

Within a blink, Mihawk was behind her, scooping her into his arms and playfully tossing her on the bed. “Your hair, my love, is not a concern--though it is quite lovely both when it’s meticulously groomed as well as when it’s…arranged otherwise.” 

She leaned back onto the pillow and stretched her legs with a soft sigh. “Aw, do you really mean that?”

“Of course I do. Now, the tea should help you rest. I’ll wake you when dinner is nigh.”

A few hours later, Perona woke to Mihawk softly stroking her cheek. Her ghosts sprang to life and began circling to offer her tissues and sips of tea. 

“I consulted the medical books in the basement, the ones we bought when Roronoa kept injuring himself. It appears you’ve suffered an allergy attack, which overwhelmed your body with histamine.”

“Yeah, I could have told you that,” she smiled. 

“How do you feel now?”

She sat up and began patting at her bangs while she considered it. “Well, I’m not sneezing anymore! But now my nose is stopped up, my eyes are tired, and my skin has all these patches! My throat hurts and I want a popsicle.”

“Any breathing discomfort? Wheezing?”

“No, just itchy! By the way, what’s for dinner?”

He led her by the hand toward the kitchen while he recounted in smug satisfaction: “I believe you’ll find the quercetin within the capers and red onions I’ve used in tonight’s supper to be quite helpful toward your relief. They’re full of natural antihistamines.”

“Capers and onions?” she asked hesitantly, “I want popsicles.”

“It’s a throat-soothing soup, dear,” he said, “made just for you.”

As the princess slowly worked through the decidedly non-cute meal, half in a daze, Mihawk ate with purpose, excusing himself to go rummage around the pantry before wandering off down the hall.

“Hmph! Some company you are!” Perona called after the swordfighter. She spent the rest of the meal pondering how best to give the thick-headed Mihawk a piece of her mind and was about to finish the last spoonful when he suddenly sprang back into the room, whisking her bowl away with a flourish. 

“Come,” he said with a wink. 

He walked briskly down the hallway, hand outstretched to the sleepy princess who trailed in mid-air behind. Pulling her ahead and into the steamy bathroom, he made a sweeping hand gesture at the tub, looking quite pleased with himself. “It’s not... festooned with rose petals as is your liking,” Mihawk apologized, “but, given the circumstances, I think it’s best. This is an oatmeal bath!”

“Oatmeal?”

“A remedy to soothe the skin,” he said while stroking his hands along her shoulders, “a proper pampering for a princess.”

She disrobed, pinned up her hair, and slid into the tub while he continued. The warm bath softened the itch, but she had her doubts about the oatmeal. Since when did Mihawk give medical advice?

“I did some further reading while you were napping,” he continued, placing a cool washcloth on her forehead, “The flowers you chanced upon in the swamp were indeed the root of your suffering. In fact, “Nosebane” is the most acute irritant growing in all the region... Furthermore, there is little that can be done to directly reverse the allergic reaction that follows simple contact with the mature flowers; only a slight... tempering of the discomfort can be achieved through the various means at our disposal... Thus, it’s my aim to--” 

But the princess was drifting away; the relaxing bath and meal had brought her into a pleasant dozy state. Mihawk remained seated outside of the tub with his hand on her shoulder in case she began to feel woozy from the water’s effect on her Devil Fruit. 

She looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes-- her Mihawk, ever-vigilant in keeping watch over her. “Thanks for taking care of me, Miho,” she said sleepily. 

“‘Tis a small matter for one as worthy as you, dear,” he smiled, “But do remember… the next time you fancy a... botanical exploration of the grounds, that there are a multitude of exotic and dangerous flora and fauna on the island, though their appearances may be quite charming.”

“So something may look cute, but actually be quite dangerous,” she teased him. “I can relate.”

He broke into a crooked smile as he offered her a warm towel and a hand to help her out of the bath. “Likewise, even something quite dangerous… may have a softer side.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the part of the author’s notes where I have to mention that allergy attacks are real and you shouldn’t dismiss them! I get them for no apparent reason at all sometimes, and they come with hives, sneezing, watery eyes, ear and throat itching, skin rashes, itchy skin, etc. A couple of days of Benadryl usually fixes me up. BUT, my mom gets them too and she has to carry an Epi-Pen because hers affect her breathing. If you have allergy attacks, make sure you talk to your doctor and always keep Benadryl around! This PSA has been brought to you by Dr. Kureha, who I assume is an expert in weird allergens xD


	7. Mihawk + Crocodile + Mariejois + argument

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mihawk and Croc talk during a break at a Warlords meeting

Sengoku sighed and tapped a stack of papers on the table in front of him while his goat looked on hungrily. “That concludes our morning business. This afternoon, we’ll go over policies and–” he eyed the indifferent Warlords sitting around the room, flanked by dutiful Marines–”and ethics, as well as our intentions regarding the current vacancy. We’ll rejoin here at 13:30. Oh, and lunch is being served in the dining hall. Please limit drinks to two.”

With a grunt, Crocodile shoved his chair out from the table and stood up with an exaggerated stretch and began making his way down the hall. Poking his head in the dining hall just long enough to decide against lunch, he continued on to the courtyard, lighting a cigar as he passed through the doorway. 

He’d been trying to raise Daz by snail before the meeting without any luck and was now pacing impatiently about the sunny courtyard, trying to get through as small clouds of sand followed his footsteps.

“Eh, would you mind smoking that elsewhere? It’s interrupting my nap,” called a voice from the base of a nearby tree.

Looking down, Crocodile realized Dracule Mihawk was reclining against the trunk, hat lowered to shade his face, arms crossed lazily.

“Your nap is the least of my concerns, Hawk-yarou,” barked the scar-faced warlord. “We’re outdoors; either learn to live with it or sleep elsewhere–or not at all. It makes no difference to me.”

“I claimed this spot some time ago,” Mihawk returned, raising an eyebrow beneath the brim of his hat, “and my intent was to find peace and quiet.”

“Leisure seems to be the extent of your ambition,” Crocodile fired back as Mihawk cocked the brim of his hat up a hair. “Psh, you’re perpetually without obligation,” he hissed. “Each time they call one of these stupid meetings, I’m three days out from the nation I’m trying to run and I end up spending the whole time hoping it hasn’t all unraveled in my absence.”

Mihawk was unfazed. Meanwhile, Crocodile was bristling.

“I was just forced to spend three hours watching the ‘hero’ Garp stuff his face with crackers,” he continued. “Now I’m foregoing my own meal to try and find a place where I can get a call through on this wretched snail. I think I’ll smoke my cigar anywhere I damn well please.” 

Mihawk pushed off the turf, inching his way up the tree trunk into a seated position and tilting a red-ringed eye at the interloper. “Your ambition seems to be dependent upon… the competency of others… and what you’re willing to pay them.” Mihawk paused to scratch his temple before continuing. ”Just how much does old Garp know about your ambitions, anyway?” 

Crocodile cast a scowl at the seated swordfighter.

“I, for one, reached the top through my own actions,” Mihawk added smugly. 

Tucking the snail into his pocket with a huff, Croc closed the distance between the two men and loomed over the sleepy swordfighter. 

“Your,” he snarled through his teeth, “silly little title is nothing compared to what I’m trying to achieve. It’s hardly a surprise that you can’t fathom the importance of something that requires more effort than popping a wine cork.”

Mihawk briefly considered standing up, but the sun looked awfully bright outside of the shade of the tree. He lifted his chin to meet the other Warlord’s gaze. A hint of playfulness gleamed in Croc’s eyes, belying the scorn in his voice. 

“If you’re so preoccupied,” he smirked, “then why did you find the time to come here?”

The humor vanished from Crocodile’s face. “Why the hell did you come?!”

“I think we both know… there’s something afoot with the Shichibukai,” Mihawk offered as he leaned back into the trunk. 

Croc’s cigar glowed bright red for a moment while he considered what to say next. “The new member…” he mused through his cigar, “Did they give any clues to who it is?”

“Who knows?” Mihawk replied, “It wouldn’t surprise me if they chose some kid from who-knows-where just to fill the slot.” He stood and dusted his palms on his thighs as he continued, “Perhaps the Elders have found someone that you haven’t gotten your hook into.” 

“Could be…” Crocodile wondered aloud, “But just what makes you think that this bastion of incompetence has any skill at recruiting talent?”

“Simple,” Mihawk smirked as he exited the courtyard, “They scouted me, of course!”


End file.
